


Meeting a stray cat

by nishiki



Series: Stray Cat [1]
Category: Assassin's Creed - All Media Types
Genre: AltMal, Altair is a hobo, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, M/M, malik is an author, other characters to be added - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-16
Updated: 2017-09-16
Packaged: 2018-12-16 04:40:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,092
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11821425
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nishiki/pseuds/nishiki
Summary: Malik Al-Sayf, author of crime novels left New York City to recover after some rather unsuccessful projects of his and decided that a change of air would maybe help him to get back to his former successes. In Biddeford, Maine, he quickly realized that a change of air, in fact, changed nothing about his troubles to write something that is worth his time and effort.  Instead, he is found by a stranger and he quickly realizes that some strangers don't understand the concept of personal space.





	1. Chapter 1

_The seagulls circling over the bay of Biddeford were screeching, adamant to wake up the still sleeping population of the small town by the sea as a young man was slowly walking his way back home. He had not been home the entire night and now, sleep deprived and ruffled from the fight he had outside this shady bar, he-_

_No_ , he thought and pressed the backspace button until all those words were deleted again. No, that was not a good start for his new story. It was a start, surely, but was it good? Was it _good enough_? The first few lines of a book were the most important part of it - at least to him and shouldn't he know what was most important about a story? But this beginning, well, it was weak at best and really bad at worst. It was not the worst he had come up with to start a story, though perhaps the most cliché in a long time. Maybe it was true what his little brother had told him only two months ago before he had decided to pack his things and move to Maine in hopes of finding new inspiration closer to the sea. Maybe he really had lost his _mojo_ \- whatever that meant.

A lot of time had already passed since his last big hit. Years even. True, people were reading lesser and lesser each day, people stopped buying real books and rather read on their phones and eBooks and iPads and whatnots, but that was not the explanation for his declining success in the industry, even though it would be a most welcome explanation. No matter how much he would like to blame those kinds of technology, those things were not to blame and the people that were not able to concentrate on any text that was longer than three lines weren't either. It was him. He was the one who was not capable of writing something interesting anymore as it seemed. His last book was only lying on the bookshelves of bookstores like dirty old socks that no one wanted.

Thrillers were a dime a dozen. Every week some author published a new captivating crime novella or a bone-chilling thriller. Nothing ever could be too mysterious, too bloody, too gruesome, too chilling. No advertisement campaign could be too lurid to promote a book that, in the end, could not deliver on its initial promise anyway. That was the world they were living in right now, that was the state of it. Real literature was rare these days and yet people kept buying it. The more lurid the cover the better and books of real quality, like his, were left on the shelves to collect dust until they would be marked down.

Two months ago he had moved to Biddeford, hoping that being so close to the sea, so far away from the big city of New York, would bring back his old energy and reanimate his seemingly long dead muse, but to no avail. His muse was not even twitching anymore, she was dead and buried and did not have the decency to come back as a zombie at least. What a bitch. The white page of the still untitled document that was open on his laptop was mocking him, laughing at him as he was trying to stare it down, hoping words would appear on itself if he would just stare long and hard enough.

Nothing. Nothing ever came and all the staring would not lead him to success. He would not suddenly be the next Stephen King or Dan Brown. All it would do for him was that he would stare a hole into his screen at some point.

With a groan he leaned back in his screeching old leather chair and drove both hands through his short ink black hair, grabbing onto it and pulling slightly, before he drove his hands back over his face and chin only to let them fall into his lap lifelessly. He had to face it, his endeavors were of no use. He could just as well crawl back into his bed, curl up in his blanket cocoon and not get up again.  

Malik Al-Sayf had always known that he wanted to be a writer one day, that he wanted to tell stories for people all over the world to read. He had started writing as soon as he knew how to write his name and even before that he had imagined exciting little tales for his baby brother and the few friends he had. His family had moved a lot in the beginning and so finding friends had not been easy, but coming up with new intriguing stories for them had been his most successful weapon in his fight for friends. But as well as he had known that he wanted to become an author one day, he too had known that being a professional writer was not as easy as movies and TV shows made it out to be. He had never been ignorant of that fact, even as a child. Being a writer meant pain and stress, it meant deadlines and angry publishers, it meant being terrified of a blank page, it meant an unhealthy addiction to coffee and back pain from sitting hunched over the keyboard of a computer for hours on end.

As he had started his career years ago, he had not thought it possible that he would once come to this point in his life where he would feel terrified of a blank page, that there might come a day when he would not know what to write down. In his youth, his head had been full of ideas and untold stories just waiting to be released from his head. Now, apparently, he finally got to the very same point every author came to at one point in their lives.

Anyway, staring at his stupid old laptop was of no help to him now anyway. As he threw a glance out of his window, he noticed that the night was slowly starting to fade out again to make room for the early morning light. How long had he been sitting here anyway and when was the last time he had left his flat? He could have sworn that the last time he had looked out of the window it had been daytime. He decided to go for a walk, to get his head cleared up a bit before he might go to sleep at last. After all, he had spent all night in front of his laptop trying to figure out what to write and how to start, apparently. At least he had decided on a topic by now. Now, he only needed a beginning.

A thin layer of fog was lying above the ground near the harbor like a delicate fabric made of spider webs as Malik later slowly walked along the water and watched the fishermen how they started their day as they rigged up their boats. It was still so early in the day that only those who absolutely needed to be up already were up and it was already late enough that the sun had risen a good quarter or so above the horizon, urging the few people that were still up to go home finally from their bar-hopping.

He stifled a yawn as he finally paused and decided that he would take a moment to just watch the sun and the ocean right in front of him. Sometimes, he figured, it was best to just stop and marvel at the wonders of the world, to take a deep breath and feel his lungs being filled with the fresh morning air. He had grown up in a town similar to this one and, as he had decided that he would move away from New York, he had first shortly contemplated if he should go back to his hometown instead of Biddeford, but then he had decided against it, much to his mother’s dismay. Going back was sometimes the way to move forward, but certainly not this time. At least that was what he had thought at the time. Now, as he stared across the sea, he was not too sure anymore.

Above his head a particularly noisy seagull decided to loudly scream at him - at least it felt like this - and Malik was tempted to yell back. He would have probably done so, had it not been for the fishermen around him. Not that he would usually care much about other people and what they might think of him, but he was living here for not too long and a part of him still wanted to make at least somewhat of a good impression.

Thinking of it now, as he stood here that early in the morning and didn't quite know what he was doing out here anyway, he wondered if he should give up on this place altogether and follow his original idea to go back to his hometown and thus closer to his parents.

He loved his mother, of course, but they both knew that his father would not have been all too glad to have his oldest son back home. Ever since Malik had decided to tell his parents the truth about himself and his _orientation_ , the relationship between them had never been the same. He and his father never had a good relationship in the first place, they had never been close and yet his father had taken Malik’s words as a personal affront as if Malik was gay just to spite him. Then again, his father knew Malik well and thus, this idea was not too far-fetched, he guessed. His younger brother, Kadar, was probably the only member of his very strict and conservative family that was okay with Malik's _choices -_ as his parents called it.

»Lovely morning, isn't it?« Malik almost flinched at the sound of the voice that was coming from behind him but before he could turn towards the sound, a young man was slowly walking past him towards the edge of the pier only to sit down on the cobblestones and let his legs dangle down. Usually, Malik would not have batted a lash about this, but he was quick to notice that the stranger had decided it was wise not to tie his shoelaces. It would be just a matter of seconds until he would lose his dirty old sneakers to the sea.

First, Malik produced a low grunt, then he again reminded himself of the fact that he was still new to this little town where everyone knew one another and that it might be a good idea to actually make small talk with other people living in this town. Would he still be in New York he would have fled the scene when a stranger would have dared to talk to him this early in the day but he wondered if it might be about time to go out of his comfort zone. And then there was still the prospect that this stranger might lose his shoes in the next few seconds. He wouldn't want to miss that. In addition to all of that, he was not eager to provoke some kind of witch hunt just because he was a loner. »It's a little too chilly for my taste.« There. He had done it. He had talked with some random stranger about the weather, his duty as a good citizen was now officially done. Already he was about to turn around and continue his merry way, as the young man sitting on the edge of the pier slowly turned his head to look at him over his shoulder.

Seeing only two-thirds of his face that was turned slightly towards him, it was even harder to tell how old the man might be. His light brown hair was partly hidden underneath the white hood of a baggy looking jacket. The hoodie itself was made out of thin fabric, way too thin for this time of the year. It was October and though it grew still quite hot during the days, the nights and early mornings were already freezing cold. His dark blue jeans were riddled with holes and what appeared to be dried blotches of paint all over the fabric and his sneakers surely had seen better days in the past. He was not very remarkable and perhaps that was what was most outstanding about him. His skin was only slightly darker than that of the typical white guy here in America to the point where it was really hard to determine where he was from exactly.

Judging only by his skin tone he could be anything from an Arab, to an Italian, a Latino or even an Asian. Sometimes he envied people like him because for Malik it had never been like this. People tended to immediately grasp where he was from without even hearing his name and after everything that had happened in the last decade or so, people looked at people like him with names like his differently than before. To them, it hardly mattered that Malik had been born in the United States. This guy was a whole lot more lucky. He was just _exotic_ because people could not figure him out at first glance.

Malik suddenly noticed that he had been staring at the young man for quite a while without saying anything even though he had seen that the man’s lips had been moving for a moment. A thin scar was running through the right corner of his mouth. Now he was smirking at him and the scar only grew more prominent because of it. No matter how unremarkable the rest of this young man was, however, his eyes were like those of a cat, glimmering with mischief and the color of burned hazelnuts mixed with honey.

»Pardon?« Malik said clearing his throat just slightly before he shoved his hands deeper into the pockets of his jacket. His left arm stung just the slightest bit now that the coldness of the early morning hours was starting to seep into his body. The man’s smirk grew even bigger.

»I said that it's going to be a beautiful day.« The young man said, but Malik had the slight feeling that this was not at all what he had been saying before. Feeling that, he was almost affronted by the man’s lie even though he could not prove it as such. Kadar often said that Malik sometimes felt affronted just on principle. Maybe he was right. Most certainly Malik could not deny that he was a grouser. »You are new in town, aren't you?«

»And what makes you think that?« He replied faster than his brain could even begin to force his tongue into a more friendly sounding reply. _This_ was not small talk.

»I haven't seen you around before and I know everyone in this little nest. Well, I guess it's not too hard to know everyone here. Plus,« The stranger made a very dramatic gesture with his left hand that Malik could not even begin to describe. »It's always big news when some stranger moves here. Hardly anyone ever moves to Biddeford, most people are moving _away_. That's why this town is mostly inhabited by old people - and their dogs. You are the first young guy in a while that dared to move to Biddeford.«

Apparently, this young man was quite eager to make small talk no matter the cost. For Malik, it was still much too early in the day to talk to random strangers on the side of the road, no matter how good looking those strangers might be. Not to say that this man was indeed good-looking, but he was not exactly ugly as well. »I prefer the quietude and peace of places like this.« Malik replied with no effort of sounding friendly even in the slightest bit possible before he continued his merry way. He needed to go back home and finally deliver at least a little something to the page.

Only as he reached the end of the pier, he glanced back over his shoulder and found the young man still sitting on the edge where he had left him. Malik found himself pausing for just a second as he looked back. The young man was staring ahead at the sea as if there would lie some greater wisdom or mystery for him to see and uncover, but as Malik looked out to the sea again, he only found that the small waves that were crashing against the shore were a little more agitated than before. He snorted. The young man had said it was going to be a beautiful day but to him, everything now looked as if it was going to rain soon. The sky, though still murky as the sun was slowly rising on the horizon, was more gray than anything else and dark clouds heavy with rain and thunder.

Maybe that was his definition of a beautiful day.

As he later arrived with a package of fresh donuts at his apartment that was overlooking the sea, the sun had risen quite high already and, which was even worse, had banished away the dark clouds slowly but surely. Apparently, the young man was about to be proven right after all as if to spite him. Somehow, it would not quite surprise him if that really was the case. The weather-gods surely hated him, just like Fortuna herself who was throwing knives at his photo up high in the Olymp.

As he sat down heavily in his leather arm chair again, he almost forgot about his donuts again. Five new emails from his agent, that was what his email program yelled at him as soon as he glanced at the screen again. He really should start shutting off this computer when he would leave the flat. Instead of reading those emails, he got up from his chair again and brewed himself a whole pot of coffee. He should probably get some sleep instead, he figured as he was sipping on his mug a little while later, but how could he even think about sleep when he had not yet written a sentence for his new book?

He didn't need to read those emails that he had gotten from his agent to know what he wanted. Haytham Kenway only ever wanted one thing and that was that Malik did his work and showered him with new and exciting scripts for his new and exciting novels. Sadly, his scripts were hardly ever exciting. That was the sole problem with everything as of late. Nothing he wrote was exciting or new anymore. He was lacking in ideas and new concepts! Everything he wrote was the same! The same stories, the same characters, the same ideas, the same plots. The only thing different was the names. Hell, his stories even took place in the same city most of the time.

A few minutes passed that Malik used to stare gloomily at the computer screen as if that would change anything about the emails that were still lingering unread on screen. Apparently, staring gloomily at those emails did not really change anything about their existence. So, with a sigh, Malik finally sat down on his chair once more and gulped down the rest of his coffee before hesitantly opening the first email.

Sometimes he thought that getting involved with _Kenway and Sons Publishing_ had been a mistake. E. Kenway, the big boss was sometimes a little bit of a weird figure and most certainly not one who could be easily predicted. His son, Haytham Kenway, Malik’s agent ever since he got his contract with the publisher, was a lot more strict and vehement than his own father and, quite frankly, an absolute pain in the ass most of the time. There was a third Kenway man, hence the _Sons_ in the name of the company. Connor Kenway, the young son of Haytham, however, he had only briefly ever seen. While his grandfather would have been willing to give him a good position in the company, Haytham, his father, had been adamant that Connor needed to work his way up like everyone else. Jenny Kenway, Haytham’s stepsister, was the only Kenway Haytham had never seen before. He had only heard rumors. Rumors that sometimes made him think that he should deem himself lucky that Haytham was his agent and not her.

And yet, maybe with her, it would have been a lot easier to know what she really expected from him. Haytham only ever told him what he did not want or like but never what he expected or thought could sell well. Looking back on it now, it was a miracle that Malik had been able to sell so many books at all.

The emails were the same as usual. Only the typical demands for a new script or at least the outline of an idea that Haytham could then tear apart piece by piece. Maybe he really was feeding on bad ideas, who really knew…

» _If you don't answer this email and finally deliver something I can show to Mr. Kenway for approval, I’m afraid that we will need to discuss the future of our partnership with_ Kenway and Sons Publishing. _Kind regards, Haytham E. Kenway.«_ He read the last mail out loud as if his fat cat Buckingham would really care about it. However, the black monster only continued cleaning himself and yawned as he lay on top of Malik’s printer. Of course he did not care. He only ever cared for who was going to feed him and that he was going to get fed.

As Malik rose from his chair he finally slammed shut his laptop and stepped towards the big bay window. The sun was laughing at him high from the sky as if to further mock him. His thoughts shortly went back to the young man he had found earlier at the pier - or rather who had found him - but before this could go any further, Malik pulled the heavy curtains in front of the window close and finally turned to go to bed.

 

**\- End of Chapter 1 -**


	2. Chapter 2

Sometimes, Malik wanted nothing more but to dream himself into a whole other world. One of adventure and mystery, one filled with dragons and magic and knights and castles, kings and queens and damsels in distress which he would probably not even try to rescue because he had not even the tiniest spark of love for idiots who got themselves in trouble. As a child, his dreams had been filled with these kinds of things. As a child, he had been the knight in shining armor who rode into adventure on his glorious mare to save the princess. Those dreams had followed him into his teenage years but somewhere along the line, he had noticed that the princess in need that he was going to rescue and marry was not a princess at all but a prince - much to his parents’ dismay. 

He had never been naive about what this meant for his life. He had never given into the illusion that everything was okay and that his family would accept him the way he was. He had grown up in a very rural area and gay people as scarce as unicorns. He had known what this revelation meant for his life the first time he had woke up with a boner when he had been thirteen and seen the prince for the first time - an idiot with hazelnut brown hair and golden eyes, locked in a cage in the middle of the woods and protected by a fierce dragon. 

Right then and there, on this fateful morning as the rain had drummed hard against the window in his bedroom on the first floor of the crooked little farmhouse, Malik had decided that he would not be a hero in his life. He would not be some figure of hope for the oppressed gay people of the world who he didn't know and didn't really care for anyway. 

He had chosen the easy path through life because life was as hard enough as it was already. He had started dating a girl as soon as he had figured out that he liked dick and while she had thought Malik was just a nice guy who wanted to wait until she was ready for sex, he had gotten quite a lot sex on the back seats of various cars on deserted parking lots as soon as he hit the sixteen-mark. 

He was, by no means a nice man and he was as far removed from being a hero as anyone ever could be. And he liked it that way. His life was good, although his parents, especially his father, liked to pretend that he was nonexistent most of the time. Well, he had known what he was in for right from the start and he had known that he would live with these consequences when the time was right. So, since he was intelligent, he had saved a lot of money during his adolescence through his part-time jobs and had been ready to be out of the house as soon as he had dropped the gay-bomb on his family. 

Sadly, not all of his family had forgotten about his existence. »Malik, come on, Dude. It's my big day, you should come!« Kadar, world’s most annoying little brother, groaned through the telephone in his hand. 

»It's just your high school graduation. No big deal, millions of other teenagers are graduating too on this very day - you are not special, you are just especially annoying.« Malik hummed in his telephone as Buckingham decided that the pile of papers Malik had to file through looked the most inviting for him to sleep on right now. Malik had given up a long time ago trying to get his cat to not act like a douchebag and so he just got up from his chair with a loud creak that made Buckingham raise his head in pure annoyance over his human and walked over to his large bay window. The day looked promising for now, although it was still early and he better not got his hopes up too much, he decided. Whenever he would get his hopes up, things tended to turn sour all too soon.

Maybe, he carefully thought as if God himself might hear him think this and then turn against him just to spite him, he could go for another walk alongside the harbor if the weather would continue to be that good for the rest of this day in late May. 

It wasn't as if he wouldn't love his little brother. He did. Most of the times he really did love the annoying little brat. But would he drive all the way to Upstate New York just to be there when his brother would graduate from High School? No. No, he would not. Not because he wouldn't do this for his brother per se, but he did not want to cause a scene. He did not go there because he loved his brother, maybe that was the not so selfish answer to the whole situation. Yes, he could think of a million better things to do than traveling so far just for a stupid ceremony, but the truth also was that he really wanted his brother to have a nice day. Kadar was, despite everything he might say about him, not a complete failure of a human being in his eyes. He was one of the best in his year, he would even hold a small speech Malik had helped him to write via Skype the other day. It was a good speech. 

Kadar deserved to have a nice graduation. He deserved to have a good memory of this day and he had worked hard for it. »Listen, Kadar.« He sighed and took off his reading glasses to throw them carelessly on his desk and made Buckingham hiss at him in the process. He felt the upcoming headache creeping into his brain again. »I would only ruin your big day would I come and we both know that.« It felt off talking like this. He was not used to being the loving big brother. He was, of course, and he had always been a loving and caring older brother. He had always been the big brother who had beaten up everyone who ever dared to come too close to his baby brother. All of this was true, still, he used to almost hide behind his sarcastic and sometimes rude facade to make it easier for everyone. Maybe, if the people around him wouldn't like him, he couldn't hurt them. 

Hell, he needed to finally start writing again. Only then, it seemed, he would stop analyzing his own personality. 

»That's not true.« Kadar remained stubborn and Malik could almost imagine the pleading blue eyes Kadar directed at his phone as he spoke. When there was one thing he hated it was talking to Kadar on the phone because his brother always put him on speaker so that he would not have to press the phone to his ear. »You wouldn't ruin things. Seriously, Mal, can't you just come and finally bury the hatchet with Mom and Dad? It’s about time, don't you think?«

»That's not my decision to make, Kadar.« 

»It's not theirs either, Malik. By Allah, why do you all have to be so stubborn? I really don't get it! What's the big deal? So what you're gay! That doesn't change anything about you! I just want my big brother here for my big day!« Oh there it was, the puppy eyes and he was so glad he couldn't see them. Kadar had always been one of those kids who had been able to get what they wanted without even trying too hard, just by using his pleading little voice and his big blue eyes. It was not fair at all. 

»Even if I wanted to come I couldn't. I have work to do, Kadar. You know, actual grown up work.«

»You're a writer. Don't tell me about grown up work. Your fan fictions just reached a higher level but you're still writing the same stuff. The difference now is only that your stories pretend to have an actual plot to follow.« 

»You unmasked me - Oh dear me. Still, Haytham rips me a new one if I don't deliver something finally.«

»And since when do you care about Haytham Kenway's rage?« Kadar chirped on the other side but despite his almost cheerful voice, Malik was well aware that his brother was positively annoyed, maybe even angry. It was not easy to make Kadar angry, but apparently, he had achieved just that and a part of him could even understand his little brother’s anger. 

They had always been close and yet Malik was not willing to fulfill his wish and to come to his graduation and all of that just because he didn't want to face his parents even after all those years that passed ever since he had come out to them. »Since I may lose my contract with the publisher if I don't deliver. Kadar, listen, I’ll call you on your graduation day, but I’m not going to come over. I'm sorry, but I have to go back to work now, I’m in the middle of a story.«

He ended the call without thinking twice and threw his phone carelessly to the side and onto the bed he had crammed into a corner of his small flat before his eyes fell on his laptop again. The blank page of the opened document stared back at him mockingly. »Fuck.« He sighed to himself in the face of this empty document and closed his laptop once more because he couldn't think of anything else to do. Writing seemed to be completely off the table by now. No matter how much he strained himself and tried to force his brain to come up with something incredibly witty, it just didn't work. »I should maybe get out. I need groceries.« He directed his words at Buckingham, but the cat only yawned in response. 

»You know what, you could at least offer some help. I mean, I'm going to buy your fucking cat food too, after all.« But still, the cat seemed quite unimpressed and so Malik just turned his back to the lazy cat and left his flat before his phone could ring again. He didn't want to talk to anyone else today and he, most certainly, did not wish to explain himself to anyone else today either. The day looked promising and sunny and he wanted to enjoy it for what it was. As he stepped outside of his flat and the house, he decided that he couldn't care less about deadlines and graduations. 

Hell, all he wanted was to leave for some desolated island far away from any kind of population.

»It's going to rain soon. A storm will hit today, you better get an umbrella.« The voice was familiar, despite the fact that he had heard it only once before. This time He met the stranger as he walked across the beautifully designed communal park that was located between his house and the closest supermarket. There was a nice little convenience store just down the street from his apartment, but he had decided that he would much rather go on a little walk to get groceries. Maybe he had even hoped that it would bring some form of clarity to his troubled mind.  Then again, he was fully aware that no author ever got clarity of mind. Clarity was only an illusion anyway, but, he figured, he could at least try to lie to himself a little. After all, he had always been quite good at lying to himself. 

He stopped as the words of the stranger met his ears. He sat on a bench on the side of the pebble stone path. For a moment, Malik just looked at him a little more puzzled than usually before he followed the young man's pointing finger towards the sky. The sun stood high in the sky and there was not a single cloud to be seen in the beautiful azure blue sky. »And what makes you think that? There is no cloud or wind even.« And why was he even talking to that lunatic? Whoever this man was, he apparently was at least without a job, otherwise, he would not have time to sit around at the park this early in the day. Hell, it was quite warm, after all, it was summer and yet he wore a thick white hoodie. At least this time he had not pulled the hood over his head and now Malik could even see his light brown hair that was messily standing in all directions. 

»Ah« The man grinned and his eyes never left Malik. »I grew up here. You know, people who grew up by the sea can feel when the weather is going to change. Trust me. There is a storm coming.«

If this would be a fantasy novel, Malik mused, this young man would be some kind of prophet or the person who recruited the hero of the story, Hagrid or Gandalf, so to speak. He seemed to appear out of thin air both times Malik had already met him and although this puzzled him greatly, he blamed his lack of awareness and attention and for that, he blamed the stress he was going through.

He couldn't deny that he did, in fact, feel guilty for not attending Kadar’s graduation. Well, he still could, a small voice in the back of his head helpfully supplied, but the louder voice in his brain, that with the always snarky tone, told the tinier voice to fuck off immediately. Was he a coward for not facing his parents? For not attending his brother’s big day after all his hard work? It wasn't fair, probably. He was not a good big brother.

Then again, he had never claimed to be a good big brother. 

Half an hour later, as Malik came back from his trip to the grocery store on the other side of the park, it was pouring from the skies like buckets full of water and a strong wind was ripping on his drenched clothes. Would he be in New York, he would be running now, but since he was in Biddeford Maine and his home not right around the next corner, he was already giving in to his fate. Just seconds after he had left the store, the sky had opened its floodgates. He was drenched to the core and his only worries now getting his shopping bags home safely without them ripping open and pouring their contents onto the streets.

»See« A voice suddenly chirped from his left-hand side and caught his attention once again. »I told you that it's going to rain soon.« The streets were desolated. No one in their right mind was out here in the streets except the new guy in town who didn't know any better and this weirdo in the white hoodie. Malik almost spat a curse as he turned to look at the man who was now sitting in a narrow alleyway on a trash bin like a cat lurking on its prey, his eyes once again fixated on Malik as if he knew something Malik did not know, or as if he could see something Malik couldn't see.

He was all but sure that the stranger would soon deliver a letter from Hogwarts to him and only about eighteen years too late. Well, they were in America, after all. No one in their right mind would be out here in the rain during this storm. No one but him. And Malik himself, of course. Whatever that meant in the end.

The stranger too was soaked to the core and the rain was dripping slowly from his long nose. While he paused and stood there just to stare at this insane idiot, a thought began to creep its way into Malik's brain and he ignored the dangerously wet groan from his paper shopping bag as it was about to rip and spill its contents all over the street. »Don't you have a home or are you my new stalker?«

»Maybe both, maybe neither. Anyhow, you need to buy me a drink now, my friend.« With that and a whole big chunk of confidence in his own charm, the man jumped off the bin and strode towards him with long steps, reminding Malik once more of a cat.

»And why is that the case?« Malik groaned. He didn't even know why he kept standing here and talked to that freak. Just like before he should have already left the scene and escaped into the warm safety of his own apartment. Hell, he should be doing a lot of things instead of talking to that possibly very dangerous freak. And yet, he didn't move. Something inside of him forced him to stay and this realization was even more unsettling.

»Oh, don't act like you wouldn't know the rule. We met three times and now you need to buy me a drink. If it had been three dates, you would need to sleep with me.« The young man’s grin was wide, all teeth and mirth and his golden eyes glistened with mischievous joy as he stopped in front of Malik. Right in that moment, Malik Al-Sayf knew that he was about to make a terrible, yet delicious mistake.

 

**\- End of Chapter 2 -**

 


	3. Chapter 3

He should have probably asked for the boy’s name, Malik thought as he sat up in his bed slowly only to stare out of his window overhead. He felt a little drowsier than necessary, ruffling through his unruly bed-ridden hair. If there was one thing his mother had taught him as a child, it was not to go with strangers - no matter if they would bribe him with candy or tell him they were friends with his parents (the latter would be a lie far too easy to look through for Malik anyway because his parents, just like him, did not have the biggest group of friends possible in that small a town). Maybe, he wondered now stifling a yawn, she should have extended her warning later in his life, as puberty had hit him like a truck, to not go with random strangers no matter how hot they were, let alone sleep with them without even knowing their name. It would have been good advice, then again, Malik would have probably not followed it anyway. Even in his early life, as he had still pretended to be a good son, he had rarely even thought about following his parents' advice in virtually anything.

Was he regretting that he had fucked this weird-ass random dude he had met outside three times? No. No, he could quite confidently, say that he was not regretting this stupid-ass decision one bit. He had been hot and Malik had not had sex in what felt like an eternity, which might be because he tended to forget the lazy random hookups he had had in this eternity. Had he thought that the stranger would probably stay for breakfast? Yes, absolutely, considering that this guy was the most pathetic individual that Malik had ever encountered - except for his little brother. Yet, he was alone in his flat as always with only Buckingham to stare at him judgingly from afar, lounging comfortably on one of the overly stuffed bookshelves. 

»Yes, yes I know. At least I didn't catch anything.« He sighed as Buckingham licked his paw judgingly. Sure, maybe Buckingham gave a shit about Malik and his sexual escapades, maybe every cat just looked as if they were judging everything the human race did, but since he didn't know for certain and had no way to tell either, Malik had decided to just explain and justify every action to his cat somewhere along the line. Of course, the thought that he might be going insane had occurred to him too, but Malik tended to drown it out. If he would never become a renowned writer with too much money to spend in a lifetime, he could still become a crazy cat-dude. 

Still, he could not completely deny that a part of him maybe felt a little disappointed that the stranger had left while he had slept, while a completely different part of his brain helpfully supplied that he had vanished like an entity from a fairy tale. That was the reason why he usually not listened to that very part of his brain. A more sober voice inside his head was the reason why he jumped out of his bed just a second later.

What if the stranger had robbed him? But alas, as he was done searching through his entire flat, pulling out every drawer and opening every cupboard, he found that everything was still in its place. Instead, he noticed that Buckingham's food and water bowl were freshly filled and his dirty dishes now magically clean.

He had never had a one-night-stand who had fed his cat or washed his dishes. Maybe the stranger really was some fairy tale creature after all. It was either that or that he was a complete nutjob. Either way, Malik found himself at a loss for words as he later stood in his kitchen and sipped his first coffee of the day.

He should be glad, he supposed. The sex had been awesome without a shadow of a doubt for this weirdo had proven to be quite flexible indeed and he was spared the troubles of needing to get him to leave and yet it didn't feel right to him somehow. Not that he had wanted to have breakfast with him but a name would have been nice at least. He would have loved to have something other to refer to him than  _ the stranger _ . Not that he was planning on referring to him in the future anyway, he guessed.

He felt a little stood up, a little used maybe. Yes, that was it. The stranger had had his fun and just left and that left a sour taste in his mouth.

Maybe it was a little pathetic, but at least it was the truth, which was probably even worse thinking about it now. He thought about the countless one-night-stands he had had in his life and how many times he had left the scene afterward without leaving a trace as if he had never been there in the first place. That was only one reason why Malik had usually gone to their places and never invited them over to his. Had his partners maybe felt the same way every time he had done this to them too? It was probably futile to waste a second thought on this, he decided as he sat down his cup decidedly hard on the surface of his breakfast bar. 

He would not think about this any more than it was necessary. It was, after all, very probable that he would not see the boy ever again. His brain betrayed him not too long after that, as he was walking through the city streets and found himself wondering if this guy had been determined to sleep with him from the start after they first met at the harbor. Probably quite the crazy thought to have, but the chance that he had maybe already known who Malik was, still held strong. He was not writing under an alias, after all. Fans being crazy stalkers was not unheard of either. One only had to think of Horror legend Stephen King's classic “Misery”. Although he had to admit, something like this only rarely ever happened to boring-ass authors. Would he be a star, well, maybe.

So, the only flaw in this theory was, that he would probably never raise the level of someone like Stephen King. Walking through town always supplied him with inspiration for stories. There was so much to see, so much to experience. Writers were rarely participants in the daily drama that was life but they always were observers of the lives of others and the day to day occurrences that seemed to be so ridiculously normal to others but so fascinating to the eye of observers. For example, hanging up the freshly washed laundry on the washing line in the backyard of a house was the most normal thing any housewife could think of, but for someone like Malik, there was a certain sense of magic in even a mundane a task as this. Writers were the people one might find outside of a café on a street corner, sitting at a small table and observing the people that were passing by. 

To observe the world was probably the first thing any writer learned, and it was exactly what Malik decided to do now too. The day was sunny but by now he knew about the treachery of all this. The cafe he had chosen was a small one that the locals tended to occupy in their free time, which was the first hint that the prices were sensible and the quality of the offered goods acceptable. Not too fancy and not too bad. At a table next to him sat two women, idly chatting about their day and their kids. Sisters, judging by the nose and the way they both used their eyebrows to emphasize on certain things.

The cafe was not too far from Malik's usual habitat, but at least so far away from the harbor and the sea that the ever annoying seagulls did not tend to stray from their path and reach this place. In the distance, however, the faint honk of a ship's horn could be heard.

Malik decided that he would visit this place more frequently from now on as he carefully sat down his large cup of coffee on the metal table again and began shoveling the last bites of his lunch, scrambled eggs and bacon, into his mouth. He stopped his fork halfway towards his mouth, however, as he noticed a young man clad in a white hoodie, the sleeves rolled up to his elbows, walk past the spot he was sitting at. Although he had pulled the white hood over his head, Malik immediately recognized him. His posture and lanky body were unmistakable.

He already wanted to get up and follow him, but then he realized just how stupid that would be. Why should he do something as stupid as this anyway? Well, he wanted an explanation for his clean dishes for a start! Maybe even for why he had fed Buckingham…

As he wanted to get up a second time, he noticed the man who was walking beside the hooded figure. A tall fella, with dirty blonde hair and a hue of fresh stubbles around his jaw. He was wearing glasses and unlike Malik, he seemed to need them not only for reading or for working on a computer. He was probably blind as a bat without them. His attire screamed office worker, but just as well he could be a librarian, he guessed. The beige leather patches on the elbows of his dark brown tweed jacket also befitted the most stereotypical teacher in history. However, his posture and the way he was carrying himself was too upright and proud for him to be a teacher. Teachers, at least after a few character forming years of teaching, tended to slump their shoulders a lot more and a few years after that it was rare to see them with a straight back.

Weird. The stranger had always made the impression to be quite the loner. Then again, Malik could really not say much about his character. He could not even claim to have talked to him that much, otherwise, he would at least know his name! All he really knew about the stranger,  _ his stranger _ , that he liked to loaf around at weird locations at weird times of the day and clean other peoples flat.

So in conclusion, he did not know a thing about that man, with the exception of how good it had felt to sleep with him and how oddly flexible he was, but those were thoughts he should better not delve into in public. It had been a one-time thing and would the stranger have wanted to keep in contact with Malik, he would have left him his phone number at the very least.

Thinking about it now, the stranger seemed to resemble a stray cat. He always seemed to appear at random out of thin air and disappeared all the same as if he had never been there in the first place, leaving others with the distinct feeling of having experienced a fatamorgana or losing their minds. He shouldn't be thinking about this man so much anyway, as he reminded himself now. He would stop now.

Still, today the stranger looked a lot cleaner than all the other times Malik had seen him before, didn't he? No blotches of dried paint on his torn jeans, no dirt on his sneakers. Just a moment later, he and his friend stopped in front of a now-closed bar at the next corner and he witnessed how the stranger opened the door with a key that he had pulled from the right pocket of his white hoodie. Was this his bar? But why would he have the time and leisure to sit around at the harbor or in the park then?

Malik saw how the other guy - which he would call Hebert from now on to make it easier and because he looked like a Herbert - moved his mouth saying something.  _ His _ stranger laughed but the sound was off and completely different than the sound Malik recalled from last night. Then  _ Herbert _ leaned in for a kiss and the pieces started to fall into place for Malik. Herbert was probably his boyfriend which led Malik to the conclusion that they were either in an open-relationship or that his stranger had cheated on his boyfriend with Malik.

If the latter would be true, it left a sour taste in his mouth, even though it wouldn't be Malik's fault. He was not much of a guy for open-relationships and cheaters he could not stand at all. He was boring like that but, he assumed, nothing about his appearance would give a different impression. Then again, he most certainly did not look as boring as Herbert. As long as no one got hurt everything was fine, Malik thought, but even in an open-relationship one part would get hurt inevitably more often than not. The real difference was whether the hurt party would tell their partner or not.

The stranger - No, that was stupid! He had to give him some name at least! Peter? Clay? Desmond?  _ Desmond _ . He looked like a Desmond. So, Desmond vanished into the darkness of the bar after he had parted ways with his boyfriend. Of course, there was no reason to believe that they were in a committed relationship at all. This guy could just be some other guy Desmond had hooked up within the short time span after he had left Malik’s flat, but the way they had talked and the way the kiss had looked and how openly they had shared this kiss in public, led him to believe that there was some sort of serious connection between them. Maybe Herbert looked more like a Shaun now that he thought about it.

For a brief moment, after Herbert-Shaun had walked away, Malik wondered if he should go after Desmond to confront him. But about what? No, that would be just plain stupid. Instead, now that he was a little wiser, he finished his breakfast and left the cafe for good. Maybe he would not come here more often after all.

As Malik walked down the harbor just a few days later, he had almost forgotten about the still nameless stranger he had named Desmond - or at least he had decided that he would tell himself that he had almost forgotten about him. He had also decided that mingling with the locals on the daily fish market down at the harbor would maybe help him with the much-needed progress for his work. The last thing he needed was a visit from Haytham fucking Kenway at this coastal idyll he had found for himself.

Malik was not a big fan of fish and would he say that he had properly prepared any fish dish whatsoever in his life, he would lie. Still, he was only twenty-nine years old and thus still young enough to learn and try out new things - plus, he could still use all this added knowledge for his new book. This was at least the excuse he decided to go with from now on - just in case Haytham would show up, after all, to pester him about his progress.

»Oysters, clams, and cockles!« The voice of the merchant ripped through the fish market just as loudly as the voices of the various fishwives in a never-ending singsang. »Oysters, clamps, and cockles!« His voice only grew louder with each step Malik seemed to get closer to his stall. And with that, Malik's annoyance over the noise only grew.

As he finally found the root of the ever constant singsang, Malik could not believe his eyes at first. There he was again, clad in dirty ripped blue jeans full of blotches of dried paint, a formerly white t-shirt, and a leather apron, screaming his lungs out only interrupted by his attempts to get people to try his stuff with his most winning and charming toothy grin. Some people laughed at his attempts in amusement, some even tried what he had to offer.

First, Malik was sure that he was just starting to see things, then he thought it must be twins, but lastly, he remembered the words of the great Sherlock Holmes: “It's never twins, my dear Watson.”

Still, how could it possibly not be twins? Of course, it was possible that the guy selling oysters on the fish market was the same guy owning that bar in town not too far away from the harbor. It was so possible an explanation indeed that it probably was the right answer. The right answer was usually the simplest - another thing that Malik had learned from the great Sherlock Holmes in his youth. 

»Hey, hey! Long time no see, ey?« His smile was so radiant as if he had swallowed at least two suns as his eyes fell upon Malik and for a long moment, Malik was unable to move. He felt frozen like a deer in the headlights of a truck. A part of him wanted to just walk on as if nothing happened, but in the next moment, the stranger's hand shot forward and in it an oyster. »Wanna try one, Handsome?«

The little smirk that was playing on his full lips was enticing enough to convince Malik to take the oyster out of his hand. Needless to say that he had never tried oysters before, but he had seen people eat them, so, he decided they could not be too bad and eating them not be too hard. Their fingers brushed shortly and a pang of electricity shot through Malik's body.

Instead of saying anything, mostly because suddenly his mouth felt dry and he had no clue what to say, Malik used the moment to throw a small glance at the tattoo that was covering the stranger’s left forearm as he remembered that he had seen this tattoo on the left forearm of the guy in front of the bar too. It was a stylized A, by the looks of it, at least if the A was shaped out of two swords and missing the middle line. Instead of the middle line, two more swords shaped some sort of crescent moon lying on its side. The A was the center of a larger, delicate and elaborate tribal that covered most of his tanned skin.

As Malik noticed the other man's stare, Malik quickly slurped the slimy gray inside of the oyster. He couldn't help but make a grimace and the stranger just laughed at his reaction. It sounded a lot different than the laughter he had heard in front of that bar. Odd.

»Yeah, I don't like them either.«

The taste was so overwhelmingly salty, as is if he had decided to drink the ocean through a straw. »Why would you sell them then?« He finally managed to get out through gritted teeth. Until that point, he was not too sure if he should feel personally affronted by this man for even offering him something as nasty as this oyster.

»A man has to eat, Honey.« He smirked as he rearranged the goods on his stall as if to make them more appealing. For some people they were, Malik supposed.

»But if that's your business-«

»My business? Oh hell no, I'm just helping out. No one in their right mind would let me on a boat! I can't swim!« He laughed and the sound was so honest and open as his face was too. Only a man like him would make fun of his own shortcomings and Malik had no reason to believe that he was lying. Stupid, he reminded himself quickly. Everyone lied.

However, at this point, Malik couldn't deny it anymore: this stranger was damn sexy when he laughed and despite everything, Malik felt a grin creeping up on him too. Oh, treacherous heart.

»Oh, I think I forgot to tell you my name, Malik - yours I know from your mail.« He winked. »I'm Altaїr.«

Altaїr. He turned the name around in his head for a moment, before he smirked. The sound was most appealing to him and yet he could not tell why. »So, Altaїr, do you always clean up other people's flats?« Altaїr laughed again and his honey colored eyes burned themselves into Malik's darker ones. Maybe not a stray cat after all, but a lost eaglet, perhaps? 

 

**-End of Chapter 3-**

 


End file.
